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Thirst

Those who are unsure. Those who never stop looking. Those who never make peace. Acutely aware that their time is passing by, that things are happening to them, they aren’t happening to things. Living with things they can never reach however much they reach out to, every day, all day. Those who aren’t crystallised, yet – those who can reach out beyond the glass walls of who they are, who can smash the wall with their bare fists, acutely aware that the wall isn’t of glass but of ice and there’s water all around them and its freezing as fast as their wrist can smash the wall. Those who struggle, not because it is heroic or it makes them feel heroic, but because they need to see what’s beyond, even if it be nothingness. Those who embrace shame. Embarrassment. Reckless abandon. Not every day, because that would be just another glass wall.

Those who do not know. Those who disappoint. Those who feel shame. Those who share their despair. Guilt. Remorse.

Those who are vulnerable.

I’ve stopped looking for you. I’ve known now that that part of you is not for me, because i am not you. So I’ve stepped back. I am waiting.

Find me. Happen to me or let me happen to you. Hear my disappointments. Share your despair. Swear as loud as you can with me, shock me a bit. Wriggle your butt and cock a middle finger at your idiocies.

Lets kick this mundane contentment in the fucking ass. Lets make space for some astonishment. Some wonder. Some euphoria.